Singular
by The-Grim-Prince
Summary: England couldn't go on alone after so many years of the happiness that only young America could give him. An alternate ending the Revolutionary War.


((This was just a random idea I had one day. I don't know why I come up with some dramatic things… But I figured I'd do something quick and short, since I haven't updated my writings in too long of a time. So I will be updating a fanfic or two of mine soon. I'm back~

Fanfic, commence!))

:::

The beat of the heavy rain on his red uniform somehow couldn't drown out the sound of his heavily beating heart. A heart that now ached with the worst pain that he had ever felt in his life.

England had gone through many rough periods. Between bad kings, wars, plagues, famine, he thought he could be prepared for anything. Nothing would ever hurt him as much as battle injuries or gnawing hunger in his stomach. He didn't know how badly he was wrong.

"I'm not your brother anymore! I want my freedom!" America declared, his rifle aimed at his former colony.

Freedom… That was the goal of any nation. Some sort of security in having the option of free will. England could understand that. But why was it so hard to let go? At some point in the past, he was envious of the growing younger nation.

England rushed forward to thrust America's rifle out of his hands, using the bayonet of his own rifle.

"I… I can't allow it!"

Allow? Or rather stand it?

In the brief moment of his own declaration, England couldn't help but thinks of his relations to other countries. His brothers hated him. They were never there for him when he needed or wanted it. He was always by himself. When was France any help? He only teased England or started wars. It could be argued that he cared the most, since he was one of the very few to visit England when they were younger. But between that and the wars between them, England only felt turmoil. What was real? The kindness or the pain?

Why couldn't there be anything constant in his life?

England lowered his rifle, collapsing to his knees. "I could never hurt you," he mumbled, downtrodden as he felt as though his chest was ripping in two.

America stared down at him with a look of pity on his face. Though, he did nothing to reassure England. He didn't apologize, or even say that he didn't hate England.

England realized that he would have to go home. He would once again be confined to his island nation, in big, empty mansions. Confined to meetings with strict rulers and etiquette. There would be no more visiting America across the seas. He wouldn't have anywhere else to go, where he would be welcome.

Would anyone in the world welcome him with a smile and happiness now?

There was no one. More than he ever had before, England felt alone.

He had a wonderful time raising America, and helping the colony. He may have made mistakes, by why couldn't he be given the chance to fix his ways? Why did it come to this? America had given him hope that there was someone out there who wanted him to exist.

There was someone who depended on England, and wanted him.

Now he had nothing.

Alone. That was the word that reverberated around in his mind. Alone. He would be alone. He was now alone. Even in his own home, he would be alone. Maybe he was destined to be alone.

England, the country of loneliness.

He couldn't stand it. He could never live like that. What would have to look forward to? A broken heart that would painfully beat for eternity.

England looked up at America in the rain, a new kind of determination in his eyes. 'You were once so big'? England was still big. Too big. And he was tired of that.

In one swift movement, England stood back up with his rifle cradled in his arms. He lifted it into the correct position to aim, his tears clearly differentiated from the rain that also poured down his face.

He pulled the trigger.

. . .

. . .

America could feel the bullet whiz past his ear, the crack of the gun almost deafening.

England missed? But he was the one who taught America everything about shooting. Why did he-

His thought process was suddenly and rudely interrupted by the cracks of other guns. He remembered his soldiers behind him, who had been keeping aim on the older nation all this time.

Though America could hear nothing over the sounds of mechanical discharge, he could more than clearly see what was taking place in front of his eyes.

It was almost in slow motion as he watched in horror. Nearly all the bullets were piercing England's body, spots and small fountains of blood erupting from every point of penetration. His uniform was now dyed a deeper red than it had been before, a few hitting him in the head.

His eyes wide in terror, England fell backwards to the muddy ground as the guns ceased firing. Despite his wounds, he was still alive. How much would it take to kill a nation? America had never wondering that until now, and he knew that he would soon find an answer to that question.

The younger nation threw himself forward to kneel beside his former, adoptive brother, gathering up his broken and bleeding body in his arms. He held him tight, too upset to be repulsed by the mess.

"Y-you- you m-missed… on p-purpose! I know! You did!" America choked out as tears ran down his face. He felt as though he could vomit from the fear and the sight, crimson red blood dripping from England mouth. "WHY? Why did… why did you do it?"

"Di'n't… wan'… be 'lone…" England quietly gasped and coughed. He took in a few raspy and shuddering breaths. His chest suddenly shook, then went still. His eyes closed halfway, going blank and dull.

"N-no! Don't leave me! Please!" America begged, England last words running through his head. He understood what he heard as though England was speaking clearly and evenly. "I wasn't going to- I wasn't going to leave you alone! I just wanted to grow up! I wanted you to be proud! I wanted to be just like you! I'm sorry I hurt you! I'm so sorry! But I never would have abandoned you! I still wanted you to be a part of my life! I would never want you to be alone!"

America explained himself with all his might, as if doing so could bring England back to life.

"Don't leave me alone…. Please…" America sobbed. "I don't want to go on by myself… I don't want to be lonely…"

In admitting that, the young nation abruptly understood England's suicide.


End file.
